


Unbroken Immorality

by fraufi666



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Twins, Brother/Sister Incest, Escape, F/M, Guilt, Guilty Pleasures, I'm Going to Hell, Immigration & Emigration, Incest, New York City, Nudity, Romance, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7307632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Russian woman is reunited with her slightly older twin brother who had settled in the same nation that she had. Yet upon finding him, she realises that he has changed so much from what she had remembered him as. Interactions between the two begin to raise questions as to why he had left her in the first place. But are these questions that should be answered, or will this lead to forbidden territory?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbroken Immorality

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Originally I had intended to write a fanfiction on a sibling pairing from Atlas Shrugged. Yet, because I had not finished reading the book yet, I decided instead to write a fanfic on Ayn Rand instead, whom I admire very much. Sergei is of course, a fictitious character. She never, at least from my knowledge, had a twin brother. 
> 
> This story is an AU. Although I have used a historical figure, this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted.

She walked through the city, alone. Even with the bustling crowds, Ayn Rand had felt so isolated and out of place. She detested going out to the public, in the very pits of mediocrity. Everyone and everything looked the same. People walked to and from their offices to their cars, chatting about mindless things. She did not pay them any mind. 

As she made another step, she felt her footrest on something thin and papery. A newspaper clipping lay beneath her heel. She stepped off it, picking the clipping up. It looked like any other dreary cover of a newspaper. Tabloids were always the same, filled with gossip and stories of scandal. But the face on the front page caused her to take a second look. It was a face of someone who she had not seen for so many years. 

Her heart was filled with such fondness as she looked at this face. It was much like her own, only it was a man's face, hidden by stern spectacles. There was a thin moustache that she did not recall being there before. The face seemed so familiar and at the same time so different. A certain feeling stirred in her as she stared into those bespectacled eyes but she could not put into words what it could be. 

_Sergei…_ Ayn realised, looking at the face of her slightly older brother and then looking at story beneath it. From the sounds of things, he was caught having an affair with a married socialite.  _What have you gotten yourself into?_

She carried on walking, yet her mind was still fixated on the face on the newspaper. It had been almost ten years since she had seen him. The last time she had set her eyes on him properly was on a bitterly cold night in St. Petersburg. She watched him behind a bannister as he hastily packed his things, not even explaining why he was leaving. But even though she had felt so hidden and safe in the shadow of the bannister, he turned to cast her one guilty look before hastily rushing out of the door and slamming it. She had not seen him since. 

_Did he leave because of me?_ She wondered. As several years passed, she had forgotten about it, focussed on making her own way in Hollywood. But now that she knew that he was in the very same country as her, she was curious. The question had reappeared in her mind and now there was a new goal. She had to find him. He had already left her without explanation once before. Now there was the chance to ask him what she was not able to ask from that night in St. Petersburg. Nothing was going to stand in her way. Not this time. 

*

Water dripped from his face as he stared into his reflection. After wiping away the droplets, Sergei replaced his spectacles. It had been three weeks since the newspaper had printed about the affair he had with the New York socialite and all of the scandal that ensued from that finally died down. The husband cursed his name and refused to have anything to do with his business, but he did not mind. He was still making money regardless. 

Realising that he was wasting time, he left the bathroom and headed back to his office. He needed to get back to work. If anything could distract him from any scandals the newspapers were printing, it was his work. It was his life, and it seemed like the only thing that mattered, the only thing, which gave him a true escape from his tumultuous young life in Russia. 

Opening the door, he first noticed a pair of long, elegant legs dangling over the edge of his desk. Attached to the legs was a woman with short hair who was staring at him expectantly. 

"Excuse me, but you are not allowed here. If you wanted to make an appointment, you must run it by a secretary first."

"Oh Sergei…do you not recognise me?"

He flinched at the familiar Russian accent, taken aback by something that reminded him of his home. He found himself looking back at the woman again; only there was something different about her. She was not just any random woman. From the dark, parted hair to the pale, alert face that was so familiar to his he realised… _no._  

"Alissa…" He stopped. She had grown a lot since he had last seen her. The hair was a lot shorter than it used to be, yet it made her appear more charming, almost beautiful. But he stopped himself. 

"Why did you cut your hair like a boy?" He said with a frown, shaking his head slightly. After saying that, only did he realise that his question was callous. But she did not seem affected at all by his words. 

"It has been ten years since you left me. _Ten years_. Without a single explanation. Why, Sergei? Why? You used to tell me everything. What had happened to make you leave?" All of a sudden, that pale face looked angry, but in actuality she was desperate for answers. The eyes were wide, pleading. It was as if they were starved of something so vital. It pained him to look at them. 

Sergei crossed his arms. "That was a long time ago, Alissa." He said firmly. "It does not matter anymore." There was a jab in his chest. He forced himself to ignore it. He told himself to never let his emotions affect him upon arriving to the United States for a new life. But the promise was wearing thin, the pain getting stronger and more unbearable. "You need to get out." He told her calmly. 

Ayn shook her head. "I am NOT Alissa. You are not the only one who has started a new life for yourself here. I am Ayn. Ayn Rand." It was an unusual name, yet a name which suited her well. It was a name destined for success. 

He was silent. Instinctively he stroked his moustache in thought. "That name does suit you." He said finally. The pain was getting stronger by the second and he coughed embarrassingly. "Well, Ayn. I would like to continue my work. If you arrange a meeting with my secretary I will get back to you." 

"Like hell you will." Ayn spat back hotly. She refused to be turned away so soon, like another client. She was more than that and he knew it. It startled her with how cold, how devoid of emotion her brother was. He was just as mysterious as he had been on the last night she had seen him. The whole trip to New York and weeks searching for his details was going to go to waste. She could not bring herself to leave the office. Not after she had made it so far. "Sergei…you have changed."  

"And so have you." Came the reply. He tried not to look up into her angry eyes. Sighing, he went to his desk and drew out a pad and pen, scribbling down some notes hastily and handing it to her. 

"My apartment. Come by at any time you need. We will talk about this more properly later." He hoped desperately that Ayn's outburst had not alarmed any people passing by his office. The last thing he needed was to explain something that he had cast away into the past. Or at least thought he did. 

She sighed, knowing that it was no use arguing with him. Seeing all of the papers on his desk was just a reminder that he had more important things to worry about. A phone began to ring. She snatched the note from him and walked out of the room, feeling so crestfallen and defeated. He did not even look at her, as if she was a disappointment to him. But what did she do that was so wrong? There were more questions than ever before as she left the building. 

But contrary to her expectations, he watched her leave. He saw the way the pale legs moved almost like clockwork under the dark folds of her dress. There was certain elegance to it, an elegance that seemed familiar but somehow more pronounced than he had ever remembered. Perhaps it was the new surroundings that had made her seem more prominent. New York seemed to suit her. Yet before he could let himself get carried away with his thoughts, he turned his attention to the mountain of paperwork. Only after he gotten through all of this, would he allow himself to return back to the person he had avoided for so many years. If he could let himself. 

*

Much to Sergei's irritation, the pale legs had remained in his mind much longer than he had wanted. Weeks had passed since Ayn had visited him and he had practically forced himself to forget of the encounter. _Why did she have to come here?_ He wondered in anger. His life was orderly and relaxing well before her arrival. The business was earning a lot of money and he had spent many enjoyable nights with some of the most beautiful women of Hollywood. It was not difficult at all to concentrate on the task. But even the elongated reflection of his fingers on the pen brought back that sinful memory. He threw down the pen, knowing that all motivation had gone. Pacing around the apartment, his hand stroking his chin, he tried to think of anything other than her. Finally, Sergei decided to do something that would at least make him feel slightly more productive. 

Standing in front of the mirror, he began to shave, carefully avoiding his moustache as he did so. For the first few minutes, he was in complete control, his mind only focussed on the immediate task. It was as if life had gone back to normal, as if he had never seen Ayn. 

But one moment's glance into the dark eyes of his reflection had cost him. A sharp pain jolted from his neck and he swore, dropping the razor into the basin. A new cut appeared, to serve as a haunting reminder of his distracted mind. To make matters worse, there was someone desperately banging at the door. 

"Stupid idiots." Sergei murmured furiously as he finished shaving, hastily cleaning off the excess cream from the razor onto his tank top. He stumbled clumsily from the bathroom, making sure to wipe away the remaining shaving cream that was on his face. He opened the door, just about ready to shout at whomever had interrupted such a delicate moment. 

His face fell. She was there, dressed remarkably far more casual than the last time he saw her. Even though her hair was in disarray, she still held herself so well with that same elegance he could not place. She placed her hands on her hips, waiting for him just as she had always waited. 

"What are you doing here?" He demanded rudely. 

"Nice to see you too." Ayn replied, rolling her eyes. "You gave me your address, remember? I need a shower, the one in my apartment doesn't work." 

He gazed back at her, stunned and unable to reply.

"Are you going to let me in, or should I just try someplace else?"

"Sorry." Sergei apologised awkwardly, shifting aside to let her through. "Bathroom through the third door to the left."

She smiled slightly as she followed his directions. The bathroom looked tidy, yet she frowned as she spotted the razor and the blood in the sink. The air smelled strongly of aftershave and she was unsure as to how she felt about that. Nevertheless, she stripped, grateful to leave behind the equally unpleasant aromas of a hard day's work. It did not take long for her to step into the welcoming embrace of the warm water. She closed her eyes, letting the water soak her completely. As she lathered herself up, she thought of the  awkward, nervous Sergei who opened the door for her. She recalled the slight cut on his neck, now realising that it was much more recent than she thought. Something about his disposition thrilled her and she felt her heart race, realising that this was not the sort of thrill she could tell anyone. It was similar to the feeling she had as she found his face in the newspaper clipping. However, she was sure that it had evolved far more than just that. This feeling was like one from those forbidden nights, where as she lay, she recalled seeing him in the office. 

Safe in the privacy of the curtain and the warm water, she could not stop herself from thinking back to those dreams and the shy Sergei that stood at the door. He looked so serious and composed at the office but completely caught off guard today. It amazed her that she could have such an effect on someone and it gave her some sort of hope. A new sense had awakened within her, and that was one of power. Yes. Power. Glorious, beautiful power. She could not stop herself as she felt those bespectacled eyes gazing at her in that shyness that was masked as seriousness and her hand began to travel to areas that caused her to gasp. 

She could scold herself later. She knew it was wrong, disgusting of all accounts. She was not even in her own home. Yet she could not stop, did not want to stop. Now was just a moment that she could enjoy and completely bask into. 

The bathroom door suddenly slammed and she heard footsteps pounding away quickly. The moment was gone as she shook in pleasure and then revulsion at her crime. It would perhaps not feel so awful if she could get away with it alone, yet the door slamming just confirmed the slight paranoia in her mind. Someone else had witnessed the event. 

Furious, she wrapped herself up in a towel and stormed out of the bathroom. "Sergei!" She shouted, "Sergei come out here at once!" 

Another door creaked open and Sergei came out frowning, his cheeks reddened. 

"Good god, Ayn." He gasped, turning away quickly in embarrassment as he noticed how little she was wearing, "Can't you see I am busy?"

"Busy taking a peek?" She teased. He had expected her to be furious with him, but it was merely curiosity in her voice, rather than disgust. Much to his horror, she had leaned towards him, pushing him against the wall so that he was unable to see anything else. Being slightly damp, the towel left little to the imagination. He could see the generous curves of her body as the material was wrapped tightly around her and as hard as he tried, could not avert his eyes. 

"Sergei..how could you not look at me? I'm right in front of you. What is wrong with you?" He clearly did not seem to have a problem with looking at her before, yet now he was aware of how too raw and inappropriate it all was as she stood proudly exposed before him. 

" _This_ is wrong." He responded in dismay, trying to focus on her eyes. They were reddened and he could not tell whether it was due to tears or the shampoo. "I have to work." 

"Do I disgust you, Sergei?" He could have sworn that there was a tremble to her voice, yet the tone was so calm. 

"Please, move out of the way, Ayn." Sergei pleaded weakly, knowing that she was bound to notice more than just reddening cheeks at seeing her, "I need to be left alone."

She threw her hands in the air, storming off and slamming the door of the bathroom. 

For the rest of the day, they barely looked at each other, let alone stayed in the same room. He forbade it. Annoyed with how much he refused to speak to her or acknowledge her presence, she left. There was a sense of relief as she finally walked out of the door and he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

Yet as night fell and he lay in the darkness, he became all too aware of how lonely he truly was. This was all too much and he had not asked for this. Rolling to his side, he forced himself to sleep. Hopefully by tomorrow the whole incident would be forgotten. More than anything, he had wished that she had not come here, but it was too late for that. His eyelids grew heavy as he cursed the image of Ayn sleeping soundly wherever she was. Much too late for that.  

_A draught blew over him as he sat up. Sergei huffed as he got up from his place to close the door. But as he drew closer, a light turned on in the corridor._

_"Ayn is that you?" He wondered out loud, walking cautiously towards the source of the light. Nobody replied and he sighed in annoyance, turning around to head back to bed. But as he did so, he felt something brush against him. Hesitantly, he turned around.  
_

_She was wearing a long, black fur coat yet not long enough to hide the legs that had haunted his thoughts. He shook his head, feeling the heat on his face._

_"That's really not appropriate to-" He was about to say but she smirked, gently allowing the coat to slip down from her shoulders. He was sure that if he did not say anything else, she was going to allow the coat to slip further. From the looks of things, she was not wearing anything underneath. "Quick, into the bedroom." He ushered her, taking her gently by the arm. He could not afford anyone to see this, even though he knew that this was still the wrong thing to do. He closed the door behind them, painfully trying to ignore his body's warnings of the pleasure that her actions were giving him._

_Yet she was no longer at his side. He looked around frantically until he noticed that she had lay down on the bed, still smirking at his misfortune. A leg rose from under the fur as she brushed her foot against the foot of the bed. His heart thudded as she let the coat slip down further until he saw her body for the first time. The coat had suddenly become more like a black rug, an inkblot that tainted the white sheets. She parted her lips slightly, her cheeks slightly flushed as her hand travelled down and she began to pleasure herself, much like the way he had heard her that day in the shower._

_"Sergei.." she moaned, her dark eyes begging, "Please help me here."_

He woke up in a sweat, his heart still pounding viciously as if to punish him for dreaming such a immoral thing. To his shock, he was completely unclothed. Somehow he had managed to undress himself in his sleep and his clothes sat at his side in a pile. Yet, with the image of the woman naked and lustfully spreading herself against the fur coat, his body gave him a warning that he could not ignore. 

Shamefully, but unable to stop, he touched himself in the dark. He was going to hate himself tomorrow. 

*

A couple of days later, Ayn had showed up at Sergei's apartment. She knocked the door once, but nobody had replied. Irritated, she knocked louder.

Instead of Sergei, a young woman with bedraggled blonde hair in one of his business shirts had answered the door. She gazed sleepily at the younger sibling. "Yes, what is it?" She asked in half yawn. 

Ayn's eyes widened. She had already heard about Sergei's affairs but she did not think that it was completely true. She did not  _want_ to think that it was true. 

"Sergei!" She shouted, ignoring the blonde "We need to talk." 

"He's sleeping." The woman started to protest, "And besides, anything you need to say you can say in front of me too. What we have is serious." 

Immediately, Ayn grabbed her arms, pushing her outside and slamming the door behind her. There was a muffled series of shouts as the blonde banged against the door. She ignored her, storming straight into where she assumed the bedroom would be. 

Sergei was sitting upright, rubbing his eyes. He only wore trunks and Ayn had noticed his bare torso for the first time. 

"Ayn, what have you done?! Let her back in!" He demanded, jumping to his feet and making a dash to the door. Yet despite his best efforts, she blocked him.

"I'm only going to be quick." Ayn said firmly. "You haven't told me about why you are so eager to leave. I want answers!" 

"Please, I can't discuss this with you right now." Sergei pleaded, his eyes flitting to the door in desperation. 

"Because of her, right?" Ayn asked, glaring at him. She suddenly shrugged, her eyes downcast. "Well, I hope you're happy. But the Sergei I knew had far more respect for himself. " 

"Ayn…" Sergei began. He looked at her in bewilderment. "Why do you say such things? Where did this come from?" Since when had his affairs ever mattered to her? She had always seemed so content and at ease when he went ahead with his own business in St. Petersburg, rarely asking any questions. But at present, she had seemed so dismayed as if what he had concerned himself with was of great importance to her. 

"As I've said before, you've changed." She scoffed. "You used to be so keen to reach for the heights. You deserve so much more than this. But look at you now. You're nothing but a playboy!" 

"That's enough!" Sergei yelled, stamping his foot. She jolted slightly, not expecting him to lose his temper so quickly. Out of the two, Sergei had seemed so much calmer. In an instant however, he brushed back his hair, his hand on his face. "I'm sorry." He apologised, trying to regain his composure. He felt so sheepish for getting angry at her, "Just leave me be…"

"Gladly." Ayn replied shortly and marched back outside, letting back the blonde in the process who looked at the angry Russian in confusion. 

"What's the matter with her?" The woman asked after she had joined Sergei in the lounge. She put her hands on his shoulders to soothe him. "Is she jealous that you're with a star like me?" The Hollywood grin and the flirtatious hands did nothing to cheer him up. He gazed blankly into space. Did they ever cheer him up, or was this only just a quick fix? To his dismay, he realised that Ayn was right. He did deserve so much more than this. But what could possibly be more than the Hollywood blonde that was now kissing him on the neck? 

A darker thought began to haunt him as he allowed the woman to continue caressing him to no avail. What if what he deserved was something he could not have? 

*

Many more tomorrows caused Sergei to hate himself as he woke up naked and alone. As much as he had tried, he could not forget the recurring dreams of Ayn and the fur coat. Even sleeping with other women did very little to erase the image. It was unfaithful and dirty and he felt completely ashamed that a single dream could give him so much more pleasure than a long night with an attractive celebrity. Yet as he checked the mail one day, he felt that perhaps he would be freed from the unnatural dreams that kept haunting him. 

He skimmed the newspaper idly, opening an envelope that was on the top of the pile of letters. Finally, his eyes had left the newspaper to focus on what had seemed to be his saviour. The letter was inviting him, as well as all other important industrialists and businessmen to a party. He was relieved, for it was to take place in one of the biggest penthouses in the heart of New York. There was no way that Ayn would find him there. 

As soon as he thought of her again, he slammed his fist against the desk in frustration. _No._ He told himself. _I will not let her control me. I am more powerful than that._ He knew that out of the two of them he had far more money. Now that he thought of it, he did not even know how she had made a living for herself. Perhaps she was with someone rich. But he realised that she was better than that. It was not like her to just go after someone for money. Back in St. Petersburg, she had danced in her room to the grandest pieces of classical music. She had always expected more, and yet at the same time was not the sort of person who would be constantly miserable with her life. From all the years he had known her, she always had clear motivations, yet only now he had no idea what her motivation was anymore. Was it possible for him to ever find out?

 

Hours later he had arrived at the party. The penthouse was alive with activity. The richest and best-dressed people of New York huddled close together, talking about meaningless issues. They held their champagne glasses, which they had only taken to drink because everyone else was drinking them, rather than drinking them for personal taste. Sergei was thankful for the crowds. It was easier for him to hide away from any pesky members of the press who had always managed to get an invitation. He could not stand to hear any more questions about his affair with the socialite. It was old news anyway, and he had not even thought about Ayn since her arrival in his office. Surreptitiously, he slipped into a corner, hoping that nobody would disturb him today. As he stood in silence, he started to realise that there was no purpose in him coming to the party. He did not want to socialise or celebrate for there was nobody of interest to socialise with and nothing in the world to celebrate. Sergei later decided to stay until at least another hour before going home, knowing that if he was left alone in the apartment with his thoughts things would only get worse. 

Suddenly, a silence had fallen on the party guests. The well-dressed people spun around, whispering to each other quickly, some pointing at the person who had just arrived. Perhaps it was some celebrity or billionaire, yet he could not see over the crowd. As the figure walked closer towards the centre of the room, they were directly under the light of the chandeliers, suddenly so visible to even the lone figure at the corner of the room. Sergei's eyes could not turn away as he saw the beautiful person who was captured in everyone's sight and knew that none of these people would ever guess that he was at all related to the person. 

Unlike most of the people who had worn black and white, Ayn wore a dress of the most deepest, luscious red. It was practically insulting to all the important people, especially to the most well-named and beautiful female celebrities who clung to their pearls in shock. She was not the most conventionally attractive woman in the room, yet the determined, confident elegance that showed that she was not only the only woman in the room, but the only woman in the world had made her irresistible. 

"Who in the world is she?" A woman in front of Sergei inquired to the man beside her.

"I haven't got a clue. But she's definitely something." The astonished but anxious tone could have made his statement both an insult and a compliment.

Someone nudged him and Sergei turned around to see a familiar face. It was Ross Greenwood, one of Sergei's associates. They had worked together a number of times and had met at parties, but both Greenwood and Sergei had never had the interest to meet up for lunch. Sergei had always found him too shallow and unrealistic whilst Greenwood had found Sergei a bore. In font of him, Greenwood treated him with mock respect. yet with friends, he insulted Sergei, jealous of his superiority. 

"Hey hey, Serge! So what's the deal with that girl? She's mighty fine." He remarked, perhaps a little too loudly for Sergei's liking. He detested the nickname but had no energy to tell him off. 

"Greenwood." Sergei nodded politely in his direction. Then, seeing how taken the other man was by his sister, he decided to wipe that smile off his face. Give him something else to be writhing in envy about. "Why.." Sergei continued in seriousness, although there was a hint of a smile in his eyes, "...she's my sister."

Greenwood's face fell instantly, much to the Russian's delight. He tried to look at him with indifference, just to infuriate him more. But it was difficult. Seeing how beautiful she was made his heart swell in pride. For the first time he had become aware of how proud he was to be related to her. 

"You're joking!" Greenwood gasped, almost dropping his champagne glass. But he quickly scanned both siblings’ faces just to be certain and his astonishment had slightly lessened. "Well…" He chuckled slightly, "Without your moustache, you'd basically be identical to her. Pity you weren't a woman Serge…you'd probably be really attractive."

Sergei gazed back at him blankly, knowing that the man was trying to get a reaction out of him. He did not give him the satisfaction. "…There's no point in wasting your words on me..." He began with some irritation. But Greenwood had immediately taken his words on board, grinning from ear to ear. Unknowingly, he had invited him to talk to her. _Oh…anyone but Greenwood._ Sergei groaned inwardly.

Rather than chasing after him, he decided to dart into another part of the room that was close enough to see them, but not close enough for them to notice him. He knew that this would make him an easy target for members of the press, but he needed to see that Greenwood was not going to do anything stupid. 

Greenwood held out a hand, smiling widely at Ayn. "Hello. My name is Ross Greenwood…pleased to meet you Ms-" 

"Rand." The woman in the red dress responded directly, taking his hand and giving it a confident handshake. She smiled at him, her dark eyes intense. He noticed that the lipstick was just as vibrant as the dress and licked his lips involuntarily. 

"Ms Rand. You are probably tired of hearing this, but you are looking very lovely tonight." 

She giggled. "Oh…spare me the compliments. You can tell them to my brother if you want. After all, you two are far better acquainted in your line of work." Contrary to his expectations, she had done her research. It was how she was able to find the venue of the party in the first place. 

Greenwood blushed, taken completely off guard. But he managed to laugh it off in time. "That is just the strangest thing. Your brother told me the exact same thing a few minutes ago. Ah... twins. So uncanny."

Suddenly she was no longer interested in speaking to him, her eyes searching anxiously for his face in the crowd. "Where is he?" 

Sergei cursed under his breath, knowing that it was only a matter of time before she found him. He could not face her now. He did not want to face her now. Quickly, he sat down at the bar, his back towards her so that she could not recognise him.

"Oh don't worry about him…he's probably just sulking in the corner." Greenwood said dismissively, trying desperately to get back the attention he so carelessly lost. He placed a hand on her arm and she looked back at him immediately. "I can tell you now that Sergei is not at all interested in parties. He's not even interested in people, unless of course it's for money or just a temporary fling. You must know about all those affairs he has…" 

"No I was not aware." Ayn said with some sadness, although she had already known but was sorry to be reminded of the fact. "I do not care for what my brother does in his private life. It does not interest me."

Greenwood's smile hurt Sergei's eyes. Now was the perfect opportunity and he was about to seize it. "Well I know something that might interest you." Greenwood said, his hazel eyes fixated on the mysterious pools that faced him. He leaned in close; "I would never ask anything of you if you didn't want me to…of course. I am a gentleman. But a little fun never hurt anybody right?" His hand had suddenly left her arm and was at her waist, his fingers digging into the red satin far too eagerly. 

Suddenly, his fingers had been wrenched violently from the satin. Greenwood gave a slight yelp as he fell to the floor. Sergei stood before him, his fists shaking. The guests cried in horror, their eyes filled with concern as Greenwood awkwardly got back on his feet, holding onto his nose. Blood was beginning to stain his white shirt cuff. 

"God damn you! What is your problem?" Greenwood asked in shock, his eyes wide and glaring at Sergei as he quickly backed away and then turned around to mercy of the guests. 

Ayn could not bring herself to look at Sergei. "Look what you've done!" She cried, before racing out of the room. 

 

He found her outside on the balcony, furiously trying to light up a cigarette, yet the wind made her efforts futile. He stood before her, lighting up her cigarette without her permission and then lit his own. 

She did not stare at him for a while. It was as if he had not existed. But she could not ignore him forever. She was too angry for that. She exhaled a wisp of smoke, her other hand resting on her hip. 

"Why did you do it?" She asked him, brushing a bit of hair out of her face.

"You know why." Sergei responded, shyly looking back at her, "He has no respect." 

"For me or for you?" Ayn asked, looking at him with a bit of a smirk. She chuckled, taking another drag of the cigarette. "I don't need you fighting my battles for me. You were ten years too late." 

Sergei frowned. "Please, don't bring that up again." 

"When _do_ you want me to bring it up? In another ten years?" She scoffed, staring at the many lights of the city. Looking at him would only break her composure, "You're just as annoying as I remember you. Never giving direct answers."

"It's not like that." Sergei said defensively, "I had to leave because there was nothing left at that place. You saw it happen. You saw what they did to us, to other families…there was no freedom."

"Then why didn't you leave with the rest of us? Why did you choose to leave on your own? No warning, no letter. Nothing. You just left us all behind." Her voice shook and he bit his lip anxiously, noticing that her eyes were shiny with tears. 

He clung to the balcony firmly, as if he was afraid of falling. A lump rose in his throat and he forced it down with all of his strength. He could not let himself break down in front of her. It would ruin everything that he was building up for ten years. "…you wouldn't understand." He finally answered quietly. 

She grabbed his arm, making him tense. "Then _help_ me understand. Don't keep me waiting. I did not fly over to America just to improve my life."

Upon hearing her plea, he recalled the sinful vision of her asking for his help as she lay on a fur coat. It was the last thing he had wanted to think about at such a tense moment. "I can't." Sergei whispered sadly, as he reluctantly pulled himself away from her grasp. He saw her looking directly into his eyes, tears falling and mascara running. The sight merely broke his heart. "I can't.." He repeated. And with that, he started to walk away. 

"Help me, Sergei!" Ayn continued to cry out, "Help me understand! Why won't you help me?!" 

But he showed no signs of stopping. Only the howling wind answered her cries. 

*

There was no point in staying at the party any longer. It felt like such a waste, to go to all of the trouble of finding out the details and then persuading the guards to let her in because of her connection with Sergei. He was the only reason she had wanted to come along. The whole evening now seemed so fruitless. 

Exhausted from crying, she cleaned her face in the bathroom, coldly reapplying her makeup so that nobody would see how she had truly felt. She then left the penthouse, waiting outside for a taxi to take her home. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure shuffling towards her, but was obscured by the shadows. She could not see their face and paid them very little attention. Checking her watch, the next taxi was going to arrive in a little over five minutes. She sighed in irritation. 

"Ah, those damn taxis. They're never on time. So much for being a city that never sleeps, right?"

Ayn looked up to see Greenwood, with a smile plastered on his face even though his nose was still bleeding slightly. She turned away, feeling ashamed for Sergei's actions.

"I'm sorry about my brother. He doesn't think sometimes." She said with some scorn. "...I hope your nose isn't too broken." 

"Oh don't worry about me." Greenwood responded boastfully, edging a bit closer to her, "I'll recover real quick. As for your brother, well…sure, he was hasty but I was a bit out of line. I'm sorry my actions."

She gave a small smile in return, indicating that his apology was accepted. They stood awkwardly on the side of the road together in silence until finally she realised that Greenwood was waiting for the taxi with her. 

"You don't need to wait out here with me." She said softly. She was more than able to wait outside alone. But Greenwood did not look like he had wanted to leave her side. 

"Aw, now I can never leave a pretty lady like you alone. There are some dangerous people out there." He replied with warning. Eager to keep her talking, he looked into her eyes intently. "Tell me, do you have a boyfriend?"

The taxi had finally arrived and Ayn had climbed inside, Greenwood holding the door open for her. She had told the driver the address of the apartment she was staying at. Meanwhile, Greenwood nestled into the seat beside to her, still trying his best to hold her gaze and attention. "Well?"

"Well what?" Ayn asked indifferently. 

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

There was a hint of a smile. She had given him eye contact, yet it seemed as if she was looking past him, rather than directly at him.      Something else, miles away seemed to matter far more to her. But he could not figure out what it was.

"No." She answered finally. The taxi started driving away "I am very busy."

"Aw, that's just too bad." Greenwood sighed, "Someone like you would get many admirers."

She laughed at him, still staring past his eyes. It disconcerted him and the more she did this, the more frustrated he got. He needed to get closer to her, just like the way they did at the party. She seemed to care very little as to how he had felt though, showing no signs of interest. 

After a few minutes, Greenwood rashly placed his hand on her knee. "You know, you're something special to me…"

Ayn raised an eyebrow, astonished, yet not nearly as astonished as he had anticipated her to be. She laughed again. "Why Ross, You barely know me."

"I know _enough_ about you." He pressed, his hand tracing up her thigh. His other arm draped around her shoulders. "Now come on, don't be shy…" As he edged closer, Ayn realised that it would take over ten minutes to get back home.

"Ross…" She warned, 

"Shh…" He hushed, leaning closer. His upper lip was sparkling with sweat. She realised that he was far more nervous than she was and the way he began to purse his lips merely made him look like an awkward schoolboy. She could not stop herself from giggling at such a sight. 

Yet hearing her laugh seemed to flick a switch within him. He pushed her against the upholstery, almost violently, his hand impatiently making its way up her skirt. "Nyet…" taken by surprise, she slipped into her mother tongue. She tried to pull away, but he pushed her down with his other hand, his mouth on hers. he slapped his face, causing him to back away. Inquisitively, the taxi driver looked at the commotion in the rear vision mirror. Greenwood made eye contact at the startled driver, who was about to open his mouth. Slipping a hand into his pocket, Greenwood drew out a wad of notes. "I think a detour is in order." He told the driver, who, with some hesitation, took the money out of his hand.

"No." She tried again. He ignored her cries, kissing her clumsily, the taste of alcohol still strong and pungent in his mouth and she struggled to get out from under him. Thinking quickly, she bit him roughly on the lip, causing him to cry out and back away. 

"STOP THE CAR!" She commanded the driver. The driver looked worriedly over his shoulder, but continued to drive as he was instructed. 

"Bitch!" He shouted at her, holding onto his bleeding lip "You're just as bad as your brother!" He grabbed her arm, but she pulled out of his grasp, pushing him away roughly. Quickly, she opened the door, causing the taxi driver to stop abruptly and then jumped out into the cold night. In all her frustration, she realised that she was in the middle of the city. She was miles away from her apartment and regretted leaving so quickly. The taxi sped away, Greenwood glaring at her angrily in the back window and shaking his fist yet she did not notice. By being too trusting, she got herself into this mess and knew that she was the only person to get out of it. 

For a while, she walked on the streets, straining to find some sign of a familiar building. It was starting to get cold and she shivered as she wrapped her shawl around herself tighter. _Just a few more blocks_ , she told herself. Sooner or later she knew that she would find her way. Anything was better than staying in a taxi with someone as repulsive as Greenwood. A gust of wind blew against her face, causing her teeth to chatter but she continued to walk faster, refusing to give in to the elements. As she reached a familiar building in the darkness, she knew that she did not have to walk any longer. 

Sergei opened the door, startled to see a panting, shivering Ayn. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked, immediately ushering her in. The fury in her eyes and the wrinkles on her dress caused his blood to boil. He did not have to ask any further. 

"I will kill Greenwood, I swear-"

"Enough." Ayn silenced him with a raised hand. "I am going to stay here for the night. I am not letting that bastard see where I live." 

_And my place is better?!_ He was about to shout but controlled himself. She had looked so vulnerable and cold and he felt incredibly guilty thinking in such a way. He could not turn her out. He gave her his address for a reason and now she needed him, more than ever.

Instinctively, he took her hands. "Your hands are like ice." He muttered in worry. Then the pang of guilt returned. If he had not left her behind, none of this would have happened. He had a responsibility which he did not take. 

She watched Sergei's face. His hands so warm and welcoming as they held hers and she did not want to pull away. She had always seen herself as too independent for anyone's support yet in that moment she wondered how she was able to stay away from him for so long. Gently, she stroked his fingers with her thumbs, the fingers which were so coarse and calloused from years of hard work and hardship that she was unaware of. All she had missed, she was experiencing in his touch and she felt so reassured, so safe. Beneath his moustache, his lips parted in silence, unsure as to how to respond. But his nerves got the better of him and he shook his head, pulling away too roughly and disappointing her once again. 

He gave an embarrassed cough, knowing that he had let himself get too close again. 

"Have a warm bath before you catch your death." He muttered in annoyance. "Guest room is just a couple of doors away." Then, he was out of the room before she could respond. 

Ayn lay in the warm bath, relieved to be away from the outdoors. She could not hear or see Sergei watching her, which gave her a slight feeling of rejection. Cleaning herself quickly, she finally got out and putting on a dressing gown, went to the guest bedroom. 

To her amazement, her clothes were neatly folded and clean, sitting on the bed just as she had left them. She smiled at the sight, wondering how embarrassed Sergei would have been washing her more intimate apparel. But she was still thankful, nonetheless. Rather than changing into her underclothes, however she lay on the bed for a few moments, smelling the aftershave that was left on the dressing gown. It excited her to think that perhaps Sergei would have been wearing this when he was thinking of her and she had to control herself to avoid doing anything unspeakable as she wore his gown. Lost in her own thoughts and feeling exhausted from the evening's events, she fell asleep there and then on the bed.

Hours later, Sergei went to check on Ayn. He knocked on the door but there was no answer. Cautiously, he opened the door and he felt himself grow weak at the sight. She had slept so soundly, her shape teasingly noticeable under his own dressing gown. As quietly as he could, he walked slowly to her and then draped a blanket over her body. Her mouth had opened slightly and he felt his heart in his throat as he wondered what that sensuous mouth would feel like on his own. Quickly, he made sure that the blanket had covered her completely, not just for her sake but for his own.

Suddenly, he felt a hand rest on his own. Her eyes were open and she smiled at him gently, moving her other hand to his cheek. Sergei could feel his heart race even faster as she began to trace her fingers through his dark locks. 

"Ayn…I can't…we can't…"

"Who cares what they want? Who cares what society wants? This is what I've wanted for so long. And don't tell me you don't feel the same too." 

He closed his eyes, leaning in close. "Yes…" He whispered. She was closer to him now, he could feel it. She had sat up on the bed, her lips making their way to his in the dark. Then, they kissed gently, the first proper kiss she had with anyone. Her hands continued to run through his hair tenderly as they continued the act that would plunge them deeper and deeper into the darkness of immorality. But she welcomed it with open arms, surrendering herself gratefully. After their lips had separated, Sergei began to undress, throwing his clothes on the floor carelessly. Even though he had kissed so many women and had made love with each one, none of them had made him so excited like the way she had. With a smirk, she slowly untied the sash of the dressing gown and like in the dream, allowed it to fall from her shoulders. Sergei looked on in amazement. Just as he had imagined, her body was slender, yet curvaceous. He thought that she could not have been more beautiful as she was under the lights of the chandelier in her red dress earlier that evening. But now, lying in the dark, her body exposed and ready for him made him realise that he was completely wrong. _This_ was the moment that had made her even more unspeakably beautiful and it was an image that he would forever treasure. 

"Sergei…" She whispered impatiently. Even as he made her wait, she felt aroused with the way he stared at her, as if she were the whole world to him. Never had she enjoyed seeing someone look at her the way he did. She shivered slightly at the sinful thought. All things that felt so good were always so wrong. But that did not matter, not in this instance and not since she first set eyes on him.

He took her in his arms, kissing her deeply on the mouth this time before planting kisses on her neck and then over her shoulders and chest. She sighed as he did so, enjoying the way he had seemed to smother her with so much affection. To his delight, she parted her legs, inviting him to kiss lower and deeper. As his lips trailed down her hips and then her thighs, she began to shake. It was subtle at first, but then it was as if her body was convulsing. He quickly stopped, taking her hands gently. 

"I'll be gentle…" He promised her. "If you don't want me to continue, I won't."

She closed her eyes, her short hair in disarray and partially obscuring her face. He brushed the hair away from her eyes, looking at her in concern and then kissing her on the cheeks softly. Even while they lay nestled against each other's bodies, the gesture seemed oddly innocent, as if they were back in St Petersburg and he was comforting her from a nightmare,  "I promise…"

"I know." Ayn breathed. She squeezed his hand tightly, "Please don't stop." 

As she requested, he descended upon her, planting kisses within her inner thighs. She closed her eyes as his lips touched against the most unspeakable parts, her legs trembling. He was gentle, his caresses slow and hesitant at first, but gradually quickening. She wondered how he must have been feeling, especially as she became more and more wet with every gesture. As she lay in complete bliss, she began to wonder what all those famous women would have felt like to be given such treatment by him. But little did she know that he had felt something far stronger with her than with any of them. Within her, he had felt so at home, and far more complete than he ever did with another woman.

"Sergei.." She gasped, knowing that she was about to reach her climax, "I…"

He continued, knowing that she still wanted him to keep going. She breathed louder now, until finally she started to moan, the legs that he had fantasised so much wrapping around him and pulling him in further. 

Finally when she could not take it anymore, she gave one last loud moan and Sergei finally finished, snuggling back beside her once more. She stretched out her arms against the white sheets, her face flushed with so much lust and satisfaction. Her figure lay as if shrouded by the snow of St. Petersburg, at a time that he had tried so desperately to escape. But he was no longer running, no longer ashamed. Sergei watched her shyly, unable to take his eyes off her. But suddenly, she had pulled him down over her, giving him fierce, passionate kisses over his face and neck. There was still something more that she had wanted, but first he had to be careful. 

He gently disentangled himself from her and slipped on some protection before taking her back in his arms. Now familiar with her body, he made his way inside her without much difficulty. She looked up at the dark eyes, which were so much like her own and smiled, noticing how much his moustache was glistening with perspiration as he took her into his gaze as well. He felt her arms around him, her palms against his back, spread wide. Even though both had felt so nervous, their bodies began to move instinctively. Closing their eyes, they could still sense the other shaking in pleasure as they continued. Ayn was moaning louder as Sergei got deeper and he felt her nails digging deeper into his back. He gasped at the pain, but knowing how much she enjoyed him, began to find the pain more arousing. In those very intimate moments, they had forgotten the whole world around them. The party and Greenwood had seemed like distant memories, of no concern whatsoever to them. 

They came together, kissing each other passionately after they had done so. Exhausted, but content, they both fell asleep, still holding one another.

Ayn woke up first but could not leave the bed. She instead watched Sergei sleep and then, woke him with a light kiss on the lips. His eyelids fluttered open and he smiled back at her. After caressing each other and staring in silence, Ayn finally broke the silence. Now was the best opportunity to ask all the questions that she had been dying to ask for what had seemed an eternity. 

"Tell me, Sergei…why did you leave St. Petersburg? That night, when you gave me one last look and fled out into the snow alone…why didn't you take me with you?"

He smiled sadly, "Don't you understand now?" He asked softly, "I left because of what I felt for you. I knew it was wrong, and if I had stayed, I would have only driven myself mad. These immoral feelings, I thought I could make them go away…only…" He trailed off, staring beyond her, his eyes wide in the dark with worry. 

She touched him on the cheek, "Go on," She urged, "Don't ever feel you have to hold anything back from me."

He swallowed, his voice small and shaky, "…only these feelings remained unbroken. I forced myself to focus on work, and for a long time I was able to focus on that. But I always felt like I had missed something. I searched for it with every beautiful woman I could find…but none of them…none of them gave me solace." 

She startled him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. He could see that she was immensely flattered at his comments. "You give _me_ solace.." She replied. "And I want you, because you are mine." 

"And you are mine…" He responded, running his hand against her face, "I thought I lost you…but I'm glad I didn't." 

"You will never lose me." She said with a laugh. Even though she had not said it, he knew that she truly loved him. And his heartbeat faster as he knew with all sincerity that he loved her too, had always loved her. But it was this moment that had brought them together all the more and forever sealed this unbroken immorality. 

 

For all of the weeks that followed, the two continued to work at their respective jobs. Yet whenever Sergei was invited to a party, he would invite Ayn along, but the two would never enter at the same time. He spoke to the other guests, avoiding her gaze for most of the night. When they did pass each other, however, secret smiles would appear on their faces. But they were only flickers, flickers that nobody else would understand, let alone notice. But the two knew all too well, could sense the other's smile even as they crossed over to opposite ends of the room. And they were going to cherish this immoral affair for a very, very long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translation key (apologies for any inaccuracies, Russian is not my native language):
> 
> Nyet: No


End file.
